


The Longest At-Bat

by TheNillaWafer



Category: Ookiku Furikabutte | Big Windup!
Genre: Fluff, Future Fic, Gen, M/M, Nippon Professional Baseball | 日本野球機構, Post-Canon, Teammates to Rivals, They still hardcore crushing on each other who are we kidding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 08:33:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15703605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNillaWafer/pseuds/TheNillaWafer
Summary: Bottom of the 12th, two strikes and a runner on third; one last time at the plate could either keep this tied championship series alive, or lose it all. It’s safe to say a fair amount of pressure is on the star professional rookie, Takaya Abe. Someone in this game will walk away defeated, and it will either be Abe, or the familiar face on the pitcher’s mound across from him.





	The Longest At-Bat

Western filmmakers could only dream to recreate this scene: Thousands upon thousands of screaming fans in a sea of royal blues and pristine whites, the colors rippling through the stands in pulse pounding anticipation. The roar of the crowd almost seemed to tighten the muscles in Abe’s chest as he rise to his feet momentarily to stretch. From his place on deck, he could easily survey the entire ballpark with no problem, yet his dark eyes remained fixed on the pitcher. 

A fluid, familiar form that seemed to trip up most of the opposing batting order; all seasoned veterans save for Abe himself. The young batter found himself smiling fondly, thinking back to his days at Nishiura and that formidable battery that nearly decimated all who opposed it in its path. 

“Strike three, out!” 

_ Son of a bitch...  _ Abe tightened the grip of his bat, let his shoulders roll loose for a second, and strode outside towards the batter’s box as he ignored the deafening flair of trumpets, the bellowing beats of drums and the rowdy crowd of cheers: “Sei-bu! Sei-bu! Sei-bu!”

...It felt warmly like Koshien back in the day.

His fellow teammate approached him, towering figure shaken up and clearly dejected from the strikeout he’d be dealt with, but still a playful glint in his eyes as he spoke, “...Watch out. Some of those pitches just barely graze inside the strike zone...!”

Abe nodded and muttered a quick thanks, but it was already knowledge he’d known first hand. A pitcher with such intricate control and pinpoint accuracy... Abe wished the pros weren’t just some heartless corporation. That boy  _ should  _ have been cloaked in slate grey and sunset orange right beside him; the next chapter of their legendary battery. 

...So what were the odds of this instead?

As Abe approached the box, weighing the bat in his thick hands just outside the chalked line, he could hear a symphonic catastrophe of noises around him. There was the announcer, such a booming voice echoing throughout the stadium, the entrance of a Yomiuri Giant in the presence of thousands of fans all screaming and chanting in cadence. Then there was the catcher behind him, rising to his feet to toss back a ball in his hand. “C’mon now, kid! Last one!”

_ Don’t count your chickens, buddy... _ Abe huffed, and situated himself inside the box, letting the world around him melt away as he locked eyes with those same hazels he’d seen millions of times before. Wide-eyed and now suddenly stiff in his composure, the pitcher tried to play it off with the clunky movement of hiding behind his glove, watching his catcher’s instructions. A soft, almost unreadable nod.  _ C’mon Mihashi, give me everything you’ve got,  _ Abe mused,  _ I ain’t gonna go easy on ya...  _

From atop the mound, a more grown but still lanky Mihashi pulled into his windup, the previously fluid motion now sticky and clunky as he stepped forward haphazardly and let the ball rip. Immediately too far out of the strike zone, Abe didn’t even twitch as the ball soared far past his reach and he quickly glanced back to watch the catcher collect it into his battered mitt. 

“Ball!” 

The ball landed back in Mihashi’s mitt with a hard  _ SMACK _ . A flustered, redded face hid that Abe knew wasn’t from the physical extortion as much as it was from the nerves the situation. Not only did the entire game--the entire  _ championship-- _ ride on this one last drive, but, there was something to personal, so oddly  _ intimate  _ in a sportsmanship kind of way where former allies turned opponents just felt like the biggest challenge. 

Abe hadn’t seen Mihashi’s progress firsthand in years, not since they both had been drafted into the pros. Regardless, there were quirks only he himself could know about Mihashi, no matter how much professional training he’d undergone or how refined his skills had become. On that mound was still the same old Mihashi from high school, an easily flustered young man with an astounding arm, and judging by the slight, twitch of his head  _ no _ , Mihashi knew this was the same old Abe as well. There’d be no tricks slipping past him that easily. 

The batter steeled himself, and watched the windup carefully. Mihashi’s movements still seemed far too rigid and mechanical then before.  _ He.. He wasn’t like that with the last batter--! _

Far too close onto the inside, Abe instinctively jumped back away from the ball and felt disoriented as commotion around him ensued: The crowd roared into a fury of boos and chants as a fellow teammate stole the base to make it to third, the catcher fumbled once more to gather the ball into his mitt. Instead of settling back down into the dirt, the catch stood to his full height and called for a timeout. A rather towering man, Abe watched intently as the man ripped off his mask and marched over towards a nearly cowering Mihashi and almost instrictly, he took a single step towards the mound but paused. That wasn’t his team.  _ That wasn’t his pitcher.  _

The batter sighed, a tinge of longing lingering on his breath. Everything felt  _ off  _ from this angle, and while Mihashi’s pitches certainly, suddenly, dropped in devastating accuracy, Abe couldn’t help but feel the odd displacement of watching those same pitches off to the side of the batter’s box instead of right behind the plate  _ where he belonged.  _ To see another catcher gather with the doe-haired young man was just  _ wrong.  _ Perhaps it was jealousy, perhaps it was more the feeling of longing and overdue reconnecting between them, perhaps it was the sight of this old hag of a player absolutely  _ tearing  _ into Mihashi for poor pitches in a crucial game. 

Abe stayed attentive, but a sudden shout from his fellow on-deck teammate reached him in the midst of the murmuring crowd, “Hey, Abe, good eye! That pitcher’s gettin’ tired!” 

A quick toss of a thumbs up, a silent  _ thanks _ , but like the previous batter, it was all for naught. Mihashi wasn’t getting tired, he was getting worked up over pitching to a former teammate--no, to someone  _ he cared to much about  _ and  _ had  _ to view as an enemy. 

“...There it is.” Abe muttered to no one in particular, watching intently as a pair of eyes on the mound gawked at him for a split second before turning back towards each other. That’s what made this at-bat so special--a reunion, of sorts, on the nation’s biggest stage. The only difference was, where Abe saw an ambitious challenge between rivals, Mihashi saw as an offensive, doomed matchup; guilt if he let his team down with the loss, or guilt if he had Abe’s team lose instead.  _ Just tear it up over there. Prove to me you wanna win, dammit...! _

The elder catcher trotted back over towards his place, settling deep within the dirt behind Abe. Mihashi moved to wipe his face with his sleeve-- _ Was... was he crying?-- _ before putting on a face of hardened, steady determination. Gone was the fluster of embarrassment, and here was finally the natural wear of physical exertion. As if Abe hadn’t already broken into a light smile from in his stance, it split into a wide-out grin the moment Mihashi took a hard glance at the third base runner before pulling back into his windup.  _ Never change, Mihashi... _

The movements were far more fluid, more natural now finally. The ball snapped out from his lanky wrist like a bullet, speed taking priority over trajectory as it seemed to be reeling deep to the outside of the strike zone.  _ Curveball...!  _

“Strike!” 

“...T-That was in...?” Abe couldn’t help but mumble, rattling his brain for an instant replay within his mind. Mihashi back in action, planting those pitches right in the trickiest places; back in high school, he knew what pitches to expect and what path they’d travel right down his middle lane. Now perched off to the side in that batter’s box, he had to admit, they could easily look deceptive from this angle. 

Regardless, the count now sat at two balls, one strike. The drive still lingered slightly towards his favor, but he couldn’t afford to hang loose just yet.

Another shake of the head, and Abe realized just right then and there how much the pitcher had grown since their youth. Everything previously had been Abe’s control, Abe’s dictation, Abe’s lead. Even after the first couple tournaments in their first year and Mihashi learned to even shake his head in the first place, it was still all on Abe. In a tinge of dissatisfaction, he supposed it answered his question of  _ How’s Mihashi doin’ without me?  _

Learning. He’s learning and growing and succeeding all without him. 

The windup, a dazzling dance of strength of power cracking the ball down the field and Abe reeled back to hit.  _ The fast—wait... the slider? Shuuto?!  _

He reached, not with a hard crack of the bat, but a soft, offcentered  _ CLUNK  _ as the ball seared off towards the opposing dugout. “Foul ball!”

_ Shit...! _ With the count now 2-2, Abe needed to be careful. There was certainly no predictable pattern to Mihashi’s pitches any longer—an issue they’d encountered together back in Nishiura. On top of that, his deception was certainly improving beyond anything Abe had ever seen. That last pitch molded together all the traits and movements of literally three different pitches together—the floatiness of his fastball, the brash curve at that final second, and the low, deep reach of that Shuuto pitch. 

Abe huffed, and fortified his stance within the box, his body tensing and muscles contracting in concentration unbeknownst to him.  _...Man on third... Man on third...  _ He was so lost in his focus, Abe never realized his body language was far different now than two pitches ago. Even from the distance over on the mound, that rare, gleaming look of pride flickered in Mihashi’s bright eyes from under that cap, pairs of polished diamonds shimmering in a shadowy cave. 

He wound up, and let the ball rip once more, and with the same trajectory, Abe twitched, ready to hit— _ wait—shitshitshitBALL.  _ He reeled back the bat with all of his strength, already dreading his fatal mistake with every thump of his heart pounding in his chest.

“Ball!”

“Ball?!” The catcher behind him rocketed to his feet in annoyance, “You’ve gotta be kidding—he went to  _ swing!” _

Abe breathed out a winded sigh he didn’t even realize he’d held. The movement must not had been that much then if that was the case,  _ thank God... _ A quick glance at Mihashi revealed nearly the same visual expression of astonishment, however instead of releaf, Abe could see the guilt riding on his features as he pulled the hat down across his eyes, the tufts of strawberry blonde hair peeking out from behind the back of the sweaty cap.

_ Don’t sweat it, Mihashi,  _ Abe thought,  _ you nearly had me fooled.  _

As Abe stepped back into the box one last time, the crowd boomed with uncontained excitement and the bands perched high above the field screamed in a passionate melody. It was now or never, with the count at 3-2, the last pitch here would decide the fate of the game--tie it up and carry on, or let the underdog team steal the win by a single run. 

To Abe, his nerves  _ should  _ have been tweaked out, frazzled and worn to the bit at the immense pressure of this final moment at bat. Instead, he felt...  _ calm.  _ A strange sense of content rolling over him as the deafening noises seemed to melt away, and rippling colors of the crowds fading into a sunny midsummer’s day, complete with the clouds rolling overhead. 

_ You’re a good pitcher... _

The field is smaller now. A dingy, cluttered mess of overgrown grass and unkempt dirt in place of the stadium turf. 

_ I like you, not just as a pitcher, but as a person... _

The warmth of the sun beats down in the quiet stillness. With no one else in sight, a much younger, more skittish Mihashi bobs his head to a nod and Abe can only stand and watch, feeling the weight of padding and gear wrap around his torso and hug his legs.

_...Even though you irritate me and piss me off... _

Mihashi reels in the windup; a clumsy, clunky shell of what he’s grown into now. The fabric of his off-white, dingy uniform ripples in the soft, summer breeze.

... _ Because you worked so hard! _

It’s as if the movement is slow motion. The ball snaps from the wrist, and floats lazily down the stretch. It’s a pitch Abe’s been blessed to work with so many times before in his life: Mihashi’s legendary and iconic “fastball”. 

_ I’ll do anything I can to help this guy... _

Abe smiles, a euphoric grin as he reaches out to take hold of the suspended baseball, ready to meet it partway, ready to lay down the groundwork and keep building the blocks for Mihashi’s development.

_...I... I want to help him! _

The peaceful summer daydream melts back into a sea of pandemonium within the industrial stadium in a mere instant. Sound is actually the first sense to return, followed immediately by sight: The pulse pounding  _ roar  _ of the crowd so amped and so heavy, Abe could  _ feel  _ the volume rumble in his chest is quickly accompanied by the flash of a blue jersey darting past him onto the field--

_...Oh.  _

Right on the pitcher’s mound, a horde of players all piled onto one another in rowdy, exuberant celebration--a pride of Seibu Lions, if you will--and somewhere in the mess of it all, was Mihashi, a rookie pitcher sealing a championship title at the most crucial moment for a team no one thought would win-- _ his team.  _

Abe blinked, more so in disbelief over what happened to  _ him.  _ He... He swung. But... He never felt any connection, no shockwave of total impact rocking down his arms, no ball soaring through the air. 

Abe swung and missed. 

Mihashi struck Abe out. 

Mihashi was--no,  _ is-- _ the greatest pitcher in the country, sounded by fellow teammates, friendly and supportive players who too were the greatest throughout the nation.

It all changed with just the single swing of a bat. 

Still suspended with complete and utter disbelief, Abe sauntered over to the still and quiet dugout with the now quiet batter who’d be waiting to come on back home, tossing his bat and helmet aside. He awaited gruff, stern reprimanding for his poor at-bat, but it never came. A quick glance revealed that everyone had the same idea--pack up, clean up, and head out quietly and respectfully when just a couple hundred meters on the field, a young man in blue and white was thrown excitedly up into the air. His jersey rippled the jarring movements and his strawberry blonde hair--wait,  _ Mihashi?! _

Abe pressed himself close towards the stairs of the dugout, peeking out beneath the shadows to take in the sight of their celebration. Bathed in the glorious lights of the stadium dome, Mihashi’s teeth glimmered like diamonds in his excited, flustered grin and was framed by the pair of his rosy red cheeks.

The boy hadn’t smiled that wide since Koshien back in high school.

Abe felt his heart lurch in his chest. He wasn’t sure if he could complete chalk it up to full jealousy. Of course he wanted to win, but, in truth, he wanted to win  _ with  _ Mihashi again. He wanted that formidable battery back. He wanted to be out there on that team, with  _ his  _ pitcher,  _ his  _ genuine and honest Ace, not some sleazy asshole who bragged and raved in every interview; another pointless Haruna. 

“Abe!” An elder gentleman bellowed from within the dugout dwelling, “C’mon, get your gear together and head back to the locker room.” Coach finally spoke up, but there wasn’t any glaring negativity or obvious anger in his voice, just growing impatience. 

“Coach, forgive me.” Abe said, turning back towards the elder and bowing respectfully. Just before the man could wave a hand, Abe spoke up again, already taking the stairs of the dugout two at a time, “I’ll be right back!”

Thick cleats tore into the turf below as Abe raced out onto the field, the cluster of players  _ still  _ celebrating their triumphant and well-deserved win. Before he even spoke, a couple guys bore their eyes onto the outsider, a lone grey-clad Giant mingled into a vast pride of royal blue Lions. With a loud and bellowing, “Mihashi!”, the call becomes even more eyes darting towards him. 

A familiar figure stepped up, still cloaked in thick catcher’s padding and gear and moving into close proximity towards Abe. His frame towered over the rookie as he sneered, “Look, no need to take your frustration out on us, little guy. Just on back to your dugout an--”

“A-A-A-Abe-kun...!” 

The meek voice somehow, someway, weaseled its way past the still iron-strong chants of the crowd and last minute hoorahs from the band, past the cluster of players and made it straight to his ears. With only his tone a sliver of an octave deeper, Abe felt momentarily frozen in time as he peered past Seibu’s catcher to find the frazzled, scrutiny young Ace. His cap had been lost in the fray of celebration, his hair was disheveled and his face was redder than a freshly grown tomato. His cheeks glistened with emotional tear stains and even the top button of his jersey had come undone. Mihashi was a mess, but Abe couldn’t care less as he brushed past the monstrous catcher to grab hold of the pitcher and pull him into a tight, warm embrace. 

Mihashi stuttered again, a garbled mess of sounds and fragmental words that seemed like a foreign language. Abe suddenly found himself laughing, an honest delight brewing from within his chest as he spoke with his words muffling into the damp, sweaty jersey he held tightly to, “Haha! Ha... Goddamnit, that... that was amazing...! Hahaha!” 

Mihashi tensed and practically muttered in response, almost inaudible in all the commotion, “You... n-not mad... m-m-me...?”

“Mad?!” Abe pulled back with such force and vigor, still gripping the smaller man’s shoulder’s for dear life, “I-I mean, I’m of course I’m upset, I-I lost the championship--but! I just... heh... I dunno, I’m... I’m so proud of you, Mihashi...! You earned this, you deserved this, I--!”

“S-So do you...!” 

The sudden outcry caused not only Abe to stir, but few others in the fray as well. They’d probably never heard such a timid young man cry out in such a manner outside of a game. Before either one of the two could return from their wide-eyed, emotional stupur, a veteran player squeezed in beside the embrace with a whisper, “Hey, uh... you kids might wanna wrap it up. They’ve got both coaches  _ and  _ security personnel walking out here now.”

Where the man’s voice was soft and kind like that of a gentle father, the second veteran to speak was far more energetic and powerful with his voice, an accent binding tight around his words, “Oi, oi, they think it’s a fight ‘er somethin’ since we’re all gathered ‘round!” 

Abe didn’t hesitate in pulling Mihashi into another embrace, still gloved hands clutching tightly against the jersey burrowing close towards the crook of his neck to speak slowly and softly beneath the crowd, “...You... You still have my number, right?” He could hear Mihashi mumble beside his ear. “Then... Call me when you’re done then. I... I wanna treat you. D-Dinner, or something, I dunno... Just... Hm...”

He sighed, and pulled away again with a final clasp of the bony shoulder. Around them, some of Mihashi’s teammates began to disperse back to their dugout, some meeting with their families quick while others rallied around their coach. The flustered pitcher still looked as if he had something to say,  _ many  _ somethings actually, but all he could muster out was, “A-A-Abe-kun... H-Ha... Hand...” 

Abe blinked distantly before letting it finally sink into his brain.  _ Mihashi,  _ he could hear his own, younger voice in the back of his mind,  _ give me your hand.  _ He smiled fondly at the resurfacing memories--those bright summer days and small grass fields coming back to him as they did during that final pitch, and he tore the tattered batting glove from his hand and pressed it tightly against the open palm before him. Mihashi’s skin was warm, radiating with heat. The new, fresh calluses along his palm were tender, ready to add to the rough, sandpaper quality of his skin. His touch felt so familiar, so comforting and so--

“A-Ack!” Abe cried out from a swift hook around his neck that had pulled him down as he stared complexly down at the turf beneath his feet. 

Beside him, a gruff, booming voice spoke clearly and diligently, “I greatly apologize for any troubles Abe-san has caused you all.” That same meaty arm slithered away from around his neck and yanked up along the collar of his uniform, bringing him back upright, “Congratulations on your win, gentlemen. Thank you for an excellent game.” 

With that, Abe felt himself tugged away from the field, the low undertone of the Coach beside him reminiscent of a parent discipline their child for running off without them. Even with the horrendous strikeout, the championship loss, the rash stunt he just pulled, Abe still had to keep himself from smiling wide in the face of his dejected, defeated team. 

 

. . .

 

_ “...The top news in sports today, last night the long-standing baseball dynasty finally has come to an end. The Yomiuri Giants were defeated by the Saitama Seibu Lions, four runs to five, in the final tie breaking game of the Japan Series championship. The Lions took the pendant with a series record of four winning games out of seven and the final game was ultimately decided when the Lions rookie pitcher Ren Mihashi struckout the Giants rookie catcher, Takaya Abe last in the bottom of the 12th. Statistically, it seemed as if it were a reunion of the ages, as not only had both Mihashi and Abe gone to the same high school together, but they were both powerful teammates who helped put a small town school, Nishiura High School located in the Saitama prefecture, on the map of championship contenders during their legendary run to Koshien. Some fans and sports analysts believe that connection is what drove the commotion of the post-game meeting, as Abe was seen rushing out onto the field to speak to the pitcher during the middle of the Lions on-field celebration. It is unclear what his intentions were at the moment, but both the Giants coaching staff as well as Abe himself will be holding a press conference about the ordeal and the reaction to the close game later this afternoon...”  _

**Author's Note:**

> Do you ever just get??? Hit with a serious fandom craving?? Well I did! I finished watching Oofuri like maybe 9 months ago and caught up with the manga a few months later. So now?? All of a sudden?? I want my baseball boys? YEAH. I think it might be because I'm branching out past my Big Tough American Football and wanting to learn more about baseball both here and overseas and in doing so I reignited the flame for a couple of good boys. WHOOPS. I'd love to write more Oofuri at some point tho, especially for Abe and Mihashi because my god they're so genuine and so pure. LOV THEM. 
> 
> Regardless, hope you enjoy! My apologies for any incorrectness or inaccuracies, as I'm still not knowledgeable about the sport too well, AND Japanese sports culture (people?? don't boo?!? W H A T?!). Thanks for reading! :)


End file.
